


Watchdog

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: A Night in the Lonesome October - Roger Zelazny, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: An unusual deal with an unusual demon.





	Watchdog

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday cardfic for Rhi, 2012. Prompt: Crowley, Aziraphale and/or Snuff, the jobs we get.
> 
> Old, old bookverse stuff I'm finally getting around to pulling off my old site.

"I'm a watchdog," I said before the demon could blow my cover. He was already drawing strange looks from the humans in the park, but now the ducks were backing away as well, and the demon had left a whole baguette on the bench he'd vacated in a hurry.(1)

"You," the demon said a few more times, but then he dropped back onto the bench all at once, worried yellow eyes peering at me over the rims of his sunglasses. He didn't look anything like the demons I was used to--he was much better-dressed, for one thing--but there was no mistaking those eyes for anything else.

"My name is Snuff," I offered, which was only half as dangerous as it could have been. It wasn't my true name, but it was the name Jack had given me, so it had power enough in the wrong hands.

"Crowley," the demon replied after a moment. I waited for the bluster and the threats to start, but Crowley only frowned. "And what's a...what's a _watchdog_ doing in St. James Park?" He sounded skeptical, but I'd told him the truth. I like being a dog, and watching things was much nicer than what I'd been doing before.

"You know that there's a full moon this month?"

"There's a full moon every--oh, ble--da--bugger," the demon groaned. "That's this decade?"

I nodded. There was no one around to see me, the humans having fled the strangeness of the ducks. Crowley had it easy; people had serious conversations with their dogs all the time.

"Right. So, I guess if you're talking to me, you must want help with the other side. A few doors opened in low places, hmm?"

He was giving me a demon's smile at last, slick and untrustworthy. It was the nervous impatience I could smell coming off him in waves that made me shake my head.

"You know the angel that comes here, don't you?"

A few ducks took flight at my back, splashing noisily up out of the water, but I knew better than to look. Crowley had gone utterly still, an ash-and-char scent rising from him that made my hackles bristle, but I stood my ground.

"And what do you want with the angel?"

Well. I hadn't been expecting that. On the other hand, it just might make my job easier.

We'd had a good run, all of us--Jack and Jill and Gray and I--but Jack's curse wasn't one that could be shared, and the rest of the world had kept time without us. We'd closed our last door together in Nuremburg, 1944, and then Jill and Gray were gone.

We never even left Scotland in '55, and the less said about '74, the better.

Which was how I came to be trusting a demon, hoping for an introduction to an angel that wouldn't involve smiting first, asking questions later.

"I was hoping he could talk with my master," I said, ready to dodge if wings or claws came out with what I said next. "Remind him why some doors still need closing."

Crowley sat back at that, the scent of infernal flame sizzling abruptly out. "You want an _intervention?"_

I shrugged. It's mostly in the ears, but for all that he was clearly a snake, Crowley appeared to speak fluent canine. "I still like this world, and I think Jack does too. Even if the people we loved aren't in it anymore."

So what if Gray was a cat? She'd never minded that I wasn't really a dog, though I'd _become_ one, for Jack.

Crowley eyed me suspiciously, but finally he nodded. "All right. I'll introduce you to the angel. On the house," he added with a smirk, waving off my nervous look. "Let's just say I've worked too hard on this world to let some tourists come in and trash the place."

I nodded. We'd heard rumors of an Apocalypse that should have been but wasn't. It was one of the reasons I'd thought to look for help. I only hoped it'd pay off, that the worried angel I could see bustling our way would agree to a private miracle.

It was my job to watch things, and I was good at it.

What Jack seemed to forget now and then was that first and foremost, my job was to watch _him._

***

1\. And as everyone knows that a St. James duck will patiently wait through murder, fire or riot until the last piece of bread is gone, the fact that these were fleeing was nearly a sign of the Apocalypse.(2)

2\. Little did they know.


End file.
